


Snippets From Life with a Traveling Circus (Three Lies and a Truth)

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’ll tell a different story if anyone ever asks him why he joined up.  What that’ll be he’s not sure since no one’s asked him yet, all he knows is it won’t be the truth.  He may value honesty over everything else, but he values his life too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/gifts), [rebeccavoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccavoy/gifts).



> Most of what I know about circuses comes from _Water for Elephants_ , _Something Wicked This Way Comes_ , that creepy Torchwood episode, and vague childhood memories (not of circuses- all I remember is the clowns- but of Totally Circus, the one season that it had). Needless to say, I apologize for any inaccuracies, moshing of time periods, and unintended creepiness if present.
> 
> For Phyllis because she not so sneakily feeds even the most rabid of my plot bunnies and for Becca who told me to read _Water for Elephants_ which sparked this whole thing.

He’ll tell a different story if anyone ever asks him why he joined up. What that’ll be he’s not sure since no one’s asked him yet, all he knows is it won’t be the truth. He may value honesty over everything else, but he values his life too.

The truth of the matter was, he’d gotten fired that morning. He’d shown up for work earlier that day at the town archives and they had told him to go home; they didn’t have any work for him and they wouldn’t for a good long while. Why he had ended up at the circus, some second rate gig that had one of the few remaining freakshows in the country, was beyond him. It was a dumb move considering his last paycheck was coming in two weeks and he had no prospects after that. Archival skills weren’t exactly required for most small town jobs in the middle of nowhere.

It’s every child’s fantasy at one point or another, when things aren’t going well, to run away and join the circus, and he supposes that that’s a part of it, needing to be a part of something that had been good, his childhood. As practical as he is, he knows he’s also looking to run away. There hasn’t been anything for him here since his grandmother had died. She’d left him the house, she couldn’t full well leave it to her incarcerated son, but there’s not much in it and even less that he actually wants to hang on to.

He supposes he’ll have to go back there eventually, face the empty rooms and yet another failure but for now he wanders the impromptu fairgrounds, watching the kids with shining faces and the parents who can’t help but smile. It’s contagious, the good cheer, and he’s thankful for that.

It’s not like the circuses of his childhood, he remembers those being grander, but it’s still by far the most extravagant thing this town had seen since at least as long as he’s lived. There’s the big top, empty now since the midday show wouldn’t start for hours, and the concession stand with its long lines, and a second smaller tent, with a sign for the freakshow and well behind that he assumes are the animals, the RVs and campers are clear across the lot to allow for more parking closer to the big show.

Will hangs around, munching on popcorn, picking out the roustabouts from the more familiar faces in the crowd. He has a ticket for the first show, so he joins the crowd as it forms, letting the more enthusiastic kids jostle their way to the front of the line in hope of getting a better seat.

Will ends up with a seat in the back, it’s rather horrible by most standards, but he’s not here for the show, not really, so he doesn’t mind. It’s not quite as loud back here and he won’t get jostled and elbowed as the kids- the ones who aren’t terrified- can’t contain their delight. And, as it turns out, it also saves him from getting trampled when the show ends.

He’s glued to his seat. He knows that, but he can’t seem to make himself move. It’s not the show- it was decent enough, he had gotten what he’d paid for- but one of the acts that has him stuck motionless. He hadn’t made the connection not at first, not until right before the very end when she had turned, a wide grin staged on her face and looked up toward the back of the stands. It was her.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the show. He doesn’t even remember the name of the circus although he swears he should have recognized it. He’s been once before, he’s sure of it, not here, but out West somewhere, back when he still travelled for work. Seattle, he thinks maybe, or Portland, although he knows this isn’t the kind of show to come too close to major cities. Why would they when the boasted the likes of the invisible man, a real life magneto, and a glorified Sherlock Holmes, while they hid what had to be their greatest asset, the most beautiful woman in the world, at the back of the lot, allowing the public to catch glimpses of her at five minute intervals during the big show.

She had an aerial act this time. He’s not sure what they call it around here aerial ribbons or silk, but right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care about the act, although it’s by far one of the best he has seen. She should be working for Cirque or at least some place more reputable than this. She’s had to been at it awhile, her execution is flawless, and he wonders how that fits into the last time, the only time he had really seen her.

He remembers it had been kind of chilly that day, a Sunday maybe, because he hadn’t been working. He had gone to the circus because he’d always had a thing for them, long before he’d gone to circus camp for several summers as a kid. It hadn’t been as crowded, most of the kids were older, back then the freakshow had been a bigger selling point, the “freaks” weren’t all hidden away, a couple of them roamed the crowd, charming passersby with tricks and astute observations: arcs of electricity, floating clothes, names and birthdates picked out of thin air. 

Will had taken some interest originally but had eventually begun to wander aimlessly. He had stopped between the porta-potties and the stretch of grass that marked the edge of the circus as clearly as any fence would, and turned back to take in the whole scene. He’s almost turned all the way around when he spots her.

At first, he’s not sure what he’s seeing, then he watches a boy, six or seven by the looks of him, pick up her hand and then drop it. It falls limply back into her lap. The boy giggles wildly. For a moment, Will’s concerned but then he sees she’s smiling brightly, eyes alert.

He moves closer, still watching as the boy picks her hand up again, setting it in front of his face and demand that it stay. He pokes at it, prods, but it doesn’t move. He’s delighted, but the older sibling who had brought him has grown bored and drags him away before he can issue another command.

She’s a human doll, made up with rosy cheeks, and bright red lips, blonde hair in perfect ringlets. She’s dressed in petticoat after petticoat and a skirt that would swish if she walked. Only the heels of her black patent leather heels are visible from under the create before her.

He had stayed and watched her, shifting around, stepping into shadows so no one would think he was obsessed. He stayed until the second to last call for the big show was issued and a man in a black and white herringbone deerstalker cap and a long trench coat came up to her with a pair of crutches. 

Will knows he had to have seen him standing there, he was the man who had been doing the Sherlock Holmes routine all morning, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he slips an arm around the woman’s waist and lifts her to her feet. She teeters, wincing even as she leans on him heavily. They shift around a bit until they get her situated on the crutches and for a moment she slumps on to them, feet held up off the ground as “Sherlock” hovers before her.

“Alright?” He asks and she nods, setting her feet gingerly back to the ground. Will winces this time, on her behalf, and watches sadly as they make their way slowly across the trampled grass to one of the closer RVs. While a part of him wants to call her back, to at least ask her name, it’s not that that fills him with regret. 

There had been something about her as she had sat idly to be commanded, prodded, and ignored. The smile had been an act, no one smiled that gleefully for that long, but the calmness, the vacant, peaceful look in her eyes had been real. There had been light, a sparkle that had vanished when her feet touched the ground. She had gone from weightless to broken in a matter of seconds, and that was what pained him. What he had seen originally as exploitation she had seen as freedom.

He knows it’s not his fault she had been called back to whatever it was that awaited her, but he wished somehow that he could have watched her for another second, another minute and held her there suspended in that calm.

It was that look of peace, more than the grin, that had allowed him to recognize her after all this time. She’s a brunette now, and her hair’s shorter, pulled back to be kept out of the way while she performed. She’s just as beautiful as he remembers if not more so.

He’s not about to admit that though, not to anyone in the circus, and not to anyone who might know someone he works with. His official version of the story, whatever it ends up being, won’t contain the slightest mention of that first happenstance, or the woman either. The rest of it will be true, the part about always wanting to run away to join the circus, but the other part, the part that he’s finding matters more and more, the part that shouldn’t matter at all, that’s for him alone to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sways forward, out of his field of vision and then back again, the cheery colored feathers sending shivers down his spine. He wants to reach up and touch her, not to stop her- he never wants her to stop- but to brush his fingers against her skin, to pull her down to him.

The actual joining up part is a bit of a blur. The only thing he really remembers is cramming clothes and a couple of keepsakes into a pair of suitcases: his autographed baseballs and the photo album his grandmother had made him after his last summer at camp. It seems a bit ridiculous bring circus mementos to a circus, but they’ve always kept him grounded and he has a feeling he’s going to need that.

They have him bunking in a camper van, which seems wrong on so many levels but he’s not about to complain, not when he has a job and not when he’s about to leave the to leave the town he’s been stuck in for years. Kate, the snarkier of his two new bunkmates, seems to find this fitting. 

“We’re the weridos.” She grins, sweeping an arm out in front of her to encompass the van, “and this is the freakmobile.”

“It’s not so bad,” Henry, who had introduced himself as the tech guy, chimes in. “It’s cozy but it’s better than sharing space with half a dozen people or more. We’re really big on packing things in. We spend most of our time in the tents anyway.”

It takes Will a while to get the lay of the land, to figure things out, but it’s not long before he realizes why they’re so fond of their misfit housing. They may both have jobs while Will’s everyone’s errand boy, but neither of them are joiners. They do their jobs, but the rest of the time they play keep away, parking the van on the outskirts of the caravan, disappearing into empty tents, blending in with the crowds. There’s a sort of invisibility to their lives and he finds, he likes that too. It’s hard to get in to trouble when no one notices you.

As it turns out Kate is right about the van, not the comment about them being weird, she’d been joking about that, but about it being fitting. Griffin- the invisible man, who was in fact invisible, and naked, most of the time- had borrowed it for himself one afternoon on his way out of town. 

He had wanted something of his own in this mud circus; he hadn’t gotten it of course. Druitt, the big boss, as charming as he was cunning, had smoothed things over, even paid for the van outright, but Griffin hadn’t been allowed in it since. Henry and Kate had once again offered him the final bunk a couple of days after Will had moved in, but he’d skirted away and literally disappeared.

Will wished he could figure out how he did that, slipping away to leave only his outer skin, his clothing, hovering in midair. Will’s been with the circus for months now and he’s no closer to figuring it out. Griffin is gone for the winter, down south to Louisiana, so Will hasn’t had a chance to test out any of his theories, but that hasn’t stopped him from thinking about it.

“You’re going to take a tumble on your head.” Helen interrupts his pondering and he shakes himself back into the present to grin up at her. He’s made himself a hammock out of the long fabric ribbons they’ve been practicing on. They’re stiff and a bit heavier than the ones Helen performs on, but they’re safer for him to learn on. Most of his training had been on trapeze so it’s taking him a while to pick up on things.

Helen says he’s a fast learner, a natural, but he thinks she’s just being kind. He knows she’s pleased though, their scattered practices during the touring season hadn’t been enough time to do more than lay out the ground work, but he’d worked hard in his spare time to build back the muscles he knew he would need. Even so, these first few days of full time training had left him aching. 

His hands were sore, almost raw, and blistered in places, even the skin at the back of his knees and elbows felt chaffed through his clothing. He knows it’ll pass; he’d gone through the same thing every summer at camp while his hands and feet had toughened up. Even so, he’s glad they’re taking some time off this afternoon.

Helen had run through her routine, lazily, working in the center of their practice space while he had lounged here, watching her. She was spectacular. Even without the lights and the fancy costumes she sparkled.

He had told her this once and she had brushed him off, hard. It had stung, the rejection, but they were colleagues and he wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of that. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, he still spent most of his time doing grunt work, but never once since joining up had he thought about leaving.

It was hard though, watching her, seeing how disappointed and frustrated she would get when something new didn’t go right. She may have been patient with him, but she was far from patient with herself. At first, he had tried reassuring her, she was undeniably good, but that only seemed to irritate her further.

This sudden impatience doesn’t feel right to him. It fits awkwardly between the quiet moments when she would tell him stories of when she had first started out, regale him with her follies and mistakes, tell him in hushed reminiscences about the time before she had chosen this life. She had come from money, the old eccentric type that had left her family on the outs with much of upper class society. Even so, she had been doted on as a child, loved, left oblivious to the harsher realities of the world until her mother had died. Helen said things had changed then; her world had shattered. She had become headstrong and by her own account fiercely independent. 

As much as it saddened Will to hear the longing in her voice, it was also a solace to know that she had been that girl, even if she wasn’t anymore. There was something uncertain about the way she carried herself now- not here in the ring, practice or not, but out in the world. She was anxious, quiet, at times almost meek. It was as if, with both feet on the ground, she limped through life, propped up like the living breathing doll he had first met. Only this time, she wasn’t smiling.

It was Druitt that had changed her, he’d realized after she’d confessed her marriage. It was the way she had whispered his name, quickly, with a nervous twist of her fingers where a ring should be that had set the pieces into place for Will. He had known they were together, Druitt doted on her far too often for Will not to have noticed, but he had assumed they were happy. He supposed perhaps in their own way they might be, but he also knew that their relationship had taken its toll on Helen. She would never say as much, but he had learned to see the burden it placed on her.

It held her down, chased away her smiles, but yesterday that weight had lifted temporarily. Druitt had left to go scouting and wouldn’t be back for a week. He would have taken Helen with him, but she had insisted on staying behind to continue Will’s training. She had big plans for the spring she had said and Druitt had left without argument. Helen’s act was, after all, their biggest attraction and as much as he wanted her by his side, he was too shrewd a businessman to pass up an opportunity for a bigger draw.

They had worked hard yesterday, harder than they had since the show had closed for the season, but this morning Helen had been distracted. She was prone to giggling, her laugher filling the small building where they rehearsed. She had teased him and he had teased her back, the banter playful. Things had settled down temporarily after lunch, but now they were back to lazing about.

Will’s enjoying the easy weightless feeling he gets any time he’s suspended up off the ground. Usually it takes a bit of work, his arms or legs straining, but right now it’s effortless, his body lulled as if it were being rocked. He’s content, almost sleepy, but Helen’s wide awake still smiling to herself. She’s suspended above him, swinging upside down, wearing a ridiculous feather headdress she had dug up from somewhere the night before. 

“Don’t fall.” She teases.

He turns onto his back, hand in front of his face to stop her from accidently poking his eye out and grumbles. He’s not intending to take a nap, but he could. He’s only a couple of feet up off the ground, held completely within the basket he’s created. Even rolling about in his sleep, he’s not going anywhere.

The fabric feels so much softer than it usually does, gentle and smooth, not the same rough weave that left his hands raw. It’s comforting having something so soft and so beautiful so close to him instead of the rough cotton bed sheets and flattened pillow he hasn’t gotten around to replacing.

It’s a luxury, an afternoon off, the slide of silk against his skin, and he intends to make the most of it even as Helen’s feathered headdress brushes against his palm and, when he turns, his arm and shoulder. It’s not an invasive feeling. It’s light, almost tickling, but it keeps him grounded here, not in the present with Helen laughing as she swings back and forth, but in the circus, in this twisted reality of opposites.

She sways forward, out of his field of vision and then back again, the cheery colored feathers sending shivers down his spine. He wants to reach up and touch her, not to stop her- he never wants her to stop- but to brush his fingers against her skin, to pull her down to him. It’s a dangerous feeling, born of denials he knows are lies.

She is loved and unloved, cared for and neglected, shackled and free. He would like to think he is, but he’s no better off. Not when the feel of silk or yet rougher fabric, leaves him dreaming, fearing not the fall, but the inevitable jerking, painful end when he realizes his palms and his knees are rubbed raw, and that there are damp sheets tangled around his ankles, the sound of her laugher a faint echo in his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He laughs too, not amused like she is, but warmed by the relief they both feel. He had stolen a moment of unadulterated bliss and not been struck down. It wasn’t much but perhaps it meant there was still hope in this godforsaken place.

He had always loved the smell of the circus. Not the smell of popcorn and funnel cake, or the crowds of woman gagging on perfume in the heat, but the smell of resin and sweat. It’s a simple honest smell, one that had meant a lot of different things to him over the years.

It clung to them all, to him and to Helen like a second skin through each and every show. It was as much a part of the act as the sequins and the silk. He had relished in it at first, but now, after months back on the road, the smell makes him want to gag.

He’s been trying to keep busy, stop himself from thinking about it more than he should, the way the chalky damp smell leaves a lump in the back of his throat. He’s been mentoring a trio of sisters, a juggling act Druitt had snagged from a show even more wayward than their own. They’re good, so good Will wonders if anyone realizes just how good, but they’re timid, unsure of their role in the grand scheme of things, and highly codependent. He’s not sure any of them have made a decision for theirself in years, and it disgusts him how willingly they accept this even when he rails against it so vehemently.

All the same, he likes working with them, laughter pulled from him effortlessly, shinning hopeful in all the ways Helen’s half-hidden glances aren’t. Even in these moments of joy, he can’t escape the circus, the smell of it, the mark it leaves on all of them. He showers after every show scrubbing away the traces: the faintly sticky resin and the grim from the hard packed dirt underfoot. It leaves his skin tingling pink as he crawls under smooth, warm sheets or steps carefully across the lot, back to the dressing table where his costume lies draped over the back of the chair.

Helen never seems to leave this small confined space between shows. She sits there staring distantly into the mirror, her gaze contemplative yet alarmingly empty, hollow. He always jostles her shoulder when he returns, the smell of shampoo and harsh soap enveloping them both for a moment. He always hopes for a smile, a glimmer of those long ago winter afternoons when they had laughed together, but he hasn’t seen one in so long.

She does turn to meet his eye, appreciation in the tired lines of her face. She’s resigned herself to this- to this life, to Druitt- he had seen it from the start, but it saddens him now more than it disgusts him.

They’re not halfway through the summer yet but he’s worried about it ending. Their new trapeze act- a double header with the silk- is coming along well, but it’s not enough of an excuse to keep her tied here to him. He’s worried about what will happen to her in the weeks when she’s glued to Druitt’s side as he scrounges around for his next big break. She’s used to parading around all dressed up, the fake smiles and the act. He’s not worried about that. He’s worried about what will happen when she has two feet planted firmly on the ground, the smell of Druitt’s cologne replacing the smell of resin on her skin. He’s worried that she’ll drown in it, the last pieces of herself that she clings to, washed away.

She’s stronger than he is, he knows that, but he hates watching the light fade from her eyes. She’s back to playing keep away, shrinking back from him, eyes flitting around the room nervously. She keeps pushing him away but it only seeks to draw him closer.

He wants to hold her. As dangerous as it is, he wants to pull her close and bury his face in her hair, to smell her. He wants to know what Helen smells like in the same visceral way he knows the way her cheeks dimple when she smiles, eyes lighting up. He wants to hold her close and feel the warmth of her skin, not flushed with the thrill of flying through the air, trapeze left behind her, but warm with the beating of her own heart steady and slow. 

He wants to press his skin against hers, not his palm bruising and rough against her arm, but her check to his shoulder, his arm around her waist. He wants to feel that low swoop in his stomach, that first leap without the safety net. It’s a risk, but it’s one he’s now willing to take. This may be the end to them both, a horrible crash of mangled limbs, but he has more faith than that.

They’ve finished the second show of the day. It’s late but neither of them have turned in for the night. He’s still sitting at the dressing table, bright lights turned dark, fiddling with near invisible jars of brightly hued makeup. Behind him, Helen’s perched on a stack of crates mending a tear in a pair of flesh colored leggings.

She’s humming the melody from their routine, slowing it down until it had become a sort of lullaby. The jeopardy gone, it’s almost comforting, the familiar tune easing them down from the high of the show. 

She had told him once that her father liked to sing as he worked; he was phenomenal, she’d beamed. Helen had inherited this habit, although she refused to sing. She sounded horrible she told him firmly every time he tried to tease a note or two out of her. She would hum though, almost incessantly at times, smiling to herself when he joined in.

Tonight he had remained almost completely silent, watching her in the mirror as her fingers danced over the fabric, tiny metal needle glinting in the light from overhead. He’s humming now though, scooting up on to the box beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers.

“You were fantastic tonight.” He whispers in an almost singsong and he watches her tongue dart out to moisten her bottom lip.

He knows she won’t say anything but he lets the compliment hang there in the space between them, watches it twist its way under her skin.

“You’ve improved a lot this week.” She murmurs in the same dance of a conversation they always have and he laughs, good-natured, shaking his head.

“I thought we weren’t allowed flattery.”

She huffs looking over at him and he watches her hand slip, needle jabbing into her finger. She winces, drawing her hand up to watch a bead of blood appear.

He takes her wrist, cups her hand in his and draws it to his lips, planting a kiss first on her palm then against her injured finger, her blood tinting his bottom lip the crimson of her lipstick.

She draws her hand away slowly and lays it palm still upturned against his thigh. She watches him cautiously, with a curiosity he hasn’t seen in almost a year. He’s surprised her and she’s not sure what to make of that.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and slides his hand, fingers curled, against her check. He expects her to turn away, but she sits as if mesmerized, fingers fluttering slowly in the air.

“Helen,” he whispers and her eyes slide from his lips up to his. There are tears in her eyes, faint and misty and for a moment he feels a pang of guilt. “Shhh,” he breathes out and she smiles bravely, reaching for him.

The finger that traces his jaw is tacky but the rest are warm and rough. Her palm rests against the corner of his mouth and he smiles into it, watching the careful contemplation on her face.

“You know I would never ask you to do anything that would hurt you, right?” He finally mutters, an echo of a long ago conversation. _I won’t let you fall._

“This isn’t-“ She takes a moment to find the words she’s looking for. “there are different kinds of risk, Will.”

“You’ve always kept me safe, haven’t you? Even when I wished you wouldn’t.” She tamps down a smile remembering his stubbornness when they’d first started in on the trapeze and he continues, “trust me on this one for a minute.”

“I trust you.” 

He knows that she does. They couldn’t do what they did if she didn’t, but she was right, this was different and now she’s pleading with him, silently begging him not to draw her out onto this ledge; they both know she’ll jump if he swings forward arms outstretched to catch her.

His hand mirrors hers now, cradling her jaw, he watches her struggle, shift closer one breath at a time.

He kisses her. Crate digging into his side, he brushes his lips against hers. She pulls away, surprised by his sudden advance, but sighs and leans back in when he waits, nose brushing against her check. She’s hesitant, fist held tight in his sweatshirt, but melts under his touch as he draws her into his lap.

When she pulls back flushed, he leans his forehead against her dark hair and breathes in deeply. She still smells like resin and grime, but underneath that there’s a hint of something else, the dark murky tea she always drinks, pouring it from the thermos she carries around religiously. It’s a gentle woody smell, one he already associates with her. Most of the others drank coffee and for those who did drink tea, none of them brewed it as dark as Helen did.

“You smell like tea.” He laughs, pulling her to him when she swats at him playfully.

“I rinse my hair with it. It keeps my roots from showing too horribly.” It’s a simple fact but one Will adores: the thriftiness, the dedication. He bets Druitt hates it, the reminder that Helen is not who she seems to him, a reminder of his own stinginess and unwillingness to pay for the rouse Helen’s undertaken at his behest.

“It smells heavenly.”

She snorts, an undignified sound, obviously not agreeing with his assessment and then dissolves into laughter. He laughs too, not amused like she is, but warmed by the relief they both feel. He had stolen a moment of unadulterated bliss and not been struck down. It wasn’t much but perhaps it meant there was still hope in this godforsaken place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s expecting her to turn, fold herself in his arms, but she holds firm, watching him now with a look of what Will could only call mild curiosity. “He’s not coming back is he?”

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, the summer had hurdled by at unprecedented speed. Two more shows and he has a choice to make. He can either go back to his empty house or spend the winter practicing for a summer run that might not happen. Normally he would have this figured out by now, but even that has changed. The future’s not something he’s given a lot of thought to lately, there’s too much chaos, to much worry to waste his time contemplating what if’s that won’t apply for another month, a week, a day. Already the lot is being packed up. The trailer with their dressing room is full of mirrors, odd slivers of silver glass. The place now looks like some sort of funhouse, haunted by disenfranchised sighs and Helen’s winces as she tests out her battered shoulder.

It’s been weeks now since she injured it, but without time off, it’s slow to heal. Normally a slip like the one she’d had wouldn’t be a big deal, but she had been showing off, trying to impress Druitt’s wealthy acquaintances. It was a hopeless feat, seducing money from bitter wealthy men but Helen had to try. Adam Worth, like the rest, was a man more sinister than Druitt himself. He wasn’t likely invest in something as frivolous as a circus, but the show was slowly falling apart and something had to be done. To Druitt, Helen was, and always would be that salvation. Even now with the risk of permanent injury, he insisted she continued to perform; the days of idle entertainment were over. He had garnered her fame and he intended to make the most of it. 

There’s still time before the show, but neither of them feel much like waiting. Two more shows and his worry would ease a bit. Two more shows and she could stop wondering. Will’s helping her with her hair, pinning curls into place as she wraps a hand protectively around her shoulder. She’s aggitated, impatient, the pain edging every exhale. She hasn’t said a word but he knows he’s slower than he should be, slower than he normally was.

He’s lingering. She hardly ever looks at him any more, even now she won’t meet his eye in the mirror. She’s too afraid of what she’ll see, of what he might see, of the look someone passing by might catch. One false move and it’s more than their careers that are over.

They had all watched as Druitt unraveled, but he knows she’s seen the worst of it, bore the brunt of Druitt’s jealousies and petty rages. It’s left her distant, more fearful than before, and while she’s stopped pushing him away, there’s nothing in her demeanor that draws him closer. Even so, he can’t let her go.

He winds a curl around his finger and smiles to herself, tipping his chin to the side so that his smile’s reflection plays in the mirror beside her frown. She smiles back not looking at him, but at some spot behind him, perhaps a reflection of a reflection of the back of her head.

“James bought out John’s share of the show.” She says suddenly, not careful or cautious, but in a rush, eyes roaming over the distorted copies of their faces.

Will sets a curl in place and sticks another set of bobby pins in his mouth, letting her sort through whatever implication it is she’s worried about.

“Have you talked to him today?”

“John?” She shakes her head and Will slides a hand down to her uninjured shoulder.

“James?” He winces and she tries to turn, to find an explanation for his sudden reluctance, but he holds fast, leaning down to press his cheek against hers. He doesn’t want her hiding from him, bowing her head to peer up at him with her face half in shadow. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell her this, but there’s no easy out and more than anything he doesn’t want her to think he’s lying to her.

“You know John,” the name feels awkward in his mouth, but the familiarity seems to soothe some of Helen’s agitation. “has some rather unsavory friends.”

“He’s not in his right mind Will.” Her voice is steady, steely but there are tears in her eyes as she stares at him pleadingly.

He wants to tell her that it’ll be alright, that if she’d been worried about having to leave the show to stay with John she didn’t need to anymore, but he doesn’t want to make that assumption. He doesn’t want to hope that he’s enough to keep her here when she so obviously feels indebted to Druitt.

“There’s been some trouble.”

“That was a misunderstanding.”

Will sighs. He’s not talking about Chicago, or Memphis, or where ever it is Helen thinks he’s talking about. He’s not usually one to get right to the point, not with something like this, but as far as he knows they still have a show starting in an hour. And as well as he knows Helen, he knows she’s not about to let him disappoint the crowd by calling off their act. Even so, if he messes this up he knows neither of them will be stepping into the ring today.

He reaches forward and brushes fingertips sticky with hairspray against her face in the mirror. “The police came by this morning.” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep watching. He wants so desperately to press his eyes shut just for a moment to gain the composure he feels so easily slipping away; he’s a mess of guilty joy, elation and deep seated worry. “They wanted to talk to Druitt downtown.”

He leaves out the part about how he’d been standing right there, how he’d heard everything, how the cops wanted more than just a chat.

“When was this?” The three words are so small they don’t echo back through her face in the mirror.

Will knows his eyes are pleading with her. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell her. He doesn’t want to be the one to break her heart, because as much as he wants her, all of her, he had never wanted it to be because of something like this. He may be selfish, but he never wants to see her hurt. “This morning before breakfast.”

She breathes out, slow and steady. Her hand reaches up, wrapping around his, pressing her fingers into his, his into her shoulder. He’s expecting her to turn, fold herself in his arms, but she holds firm, watching him now with a look of what Will could only call mild curiosity. “He’s not coming back is he?”

“I don’t know, Helen.”

“He’s not. That’s why James told me about the changes he’s making, all the things he’s wanted to do for so long. John’s gone, Will.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment and then Helen laughs, a low bitter sound. “After all these years, if I had thought for a moment-”

“It’s going to be ok.”

“I know.” She smiles at him, but as he turns away to pull his costume from where it hangs beside them he catches a glimpse of the look that shimmers across the glass and for a moment his heart stops. She looks terrified.

**Author's Note:**

> For my kink_bingo postage stamp: objectification kink; silk, velvet, feathers, fur; possession/marking; and mirrors/doubles.


End file.
